


Hard Way Home

by Axelex12



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputation, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bonding, Breaking Up & Making Up, Car Sex, Complete, Cougar Jokes, Cunnilingus, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Bonding, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, MILFs, Marriage Proposal, Minor Abby Griffin/Jake Griffin, Minor Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Older Woman/Younger Man, Prosthesis, Realistic, Rough Sex, Sex on a Car, Vaginal Sex, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27839461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axelex12/pseuds/Axelex12
Summary: What starts off casual between Abby and Bellamy develops into something more - despite all the cougar jokes coming from Abby's other middle-aged lady friends.Abby/Bellamy romantic relationship.Modern AU.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Abby Griffin
Kudos: 5





	1. I

Abby's life has been different since she transferred from her surgical position at the hospital to help oversee the family health clinic. There's now more paperwork and administrative duties, but also fewer twenty-four hour shifts and instances where she has to explain to people that their loved one bled to death under her skilled, but still very human hands. And at the time she had elected to make the transition, fewer hours spent in surgery and on call had afforded her more time to be at home with a devastated young Clarke as they both coped with the loss of her father.

Now the remaining people in her life have all seen career and life changes. Clarke's in her second year of college, studying art and photography. She's living on campus and has been commendably dedicated to her studies, so Abby only sees her once in a blue moon, usually during school breaks. Sometimes the house seems unbearably quiet without music emanating from Clarke's room or the regular stream of Clarke's chatty friends dropping by. And Abby hasn't quite yet mastered the art of cooking for one. The sight of a refrigerator constantly stocked with leftovers should be a welcome one, but all it does is remind Abby how empty the rest of the house feels.

Callie's on her second divorce, once from a guy they knew in college, and once from a woman she met while running the mayor's election campaign. "I've got a matching set!" she likes to joke. She's taking a break from any further relationships to focus on her own political aspirations. Indra recently gave up her civil rights law practice to run the local women's shelter.

No matter where their lives have taken them, work and other obligations keep them busy, and Abby's lucky if she occasionally manages to meet up with Callie and Indra to catch up over a quick cup of coffee.

It's a rare luxury when the three of them all have a free Saturday night together, so it would be a pity to waste the opportunity merely chit-chatting over wine at one of their homes.

They deck themselves out in attire that hasn't seen the outside of a closet in far too long – Callie in a navy skirt and matching blouse, Indra in slacks and a stunning, open-backed green top, and Abby in a black V-neck dress . The bustling crowds of the lively downtown district, the pleasant warmth of a late summer evening, and the bright lights blinking into being as the sun wanes have Abby feeling awake and alive for the first time in ages. Tonight she doesn't have to be a doctor, or an assistant director, or an empty-nest mom – she just gets to enjoy the company of her two best friends while they all remember what it feels like to actually live a little.

The first bar they try out ends up being kind of a dump. It reeks of stale beer and old cigarette smoke, and the interior is dark and morose, lit mainly by cheap strings of Christmas lights. The strands hang limply across the wall trim, some bulbs burned out, others blinking in sync with the tired music playing from the jukebox. It's a bleak scene – the kind of place where a sad drunk sings karaoke to an empty room. It's the last time Abby follows a recommendation from one of Clarke's friends on where the "cool" spots in town are.

The bar's one saving grace is the rather attractive, rather young bartender, who is being particularly attentive towards Abby's group. They've parked themselves at a table in a far corner, but the woman comes to check on them far more often than any of the other tables. They've been ordering mixed drinks, but the brunette is pouring them strong – it's partially why they've stayed at this crummy bar for so long. And Abby's fairly certain she saw the bartender reaching for top-shelf bottles to make their cocktails, even though they had only ordered well drinks.

"You must have to be a pretty lady in a tight dress to get decent service around here," another customer grumbles, which earns him a scowl and a "Fuck off, Murphy," from the bartender. The man must be a regular, and not a particularly well-liked one at that.

Two cherries keep winding up in Abby's drinks, as opposed to the one in both Callie and Indra's beverages. The bartender keeps their table well-stocked with bar peanuts, but when Abby idly comments that she prefers carbs when she's out drinking, the next bowl the dark-haired young man brings is full of pretzels. Even though Abby guesses she's about twice the bartender's age, in the spirit of the evening she embraces the attention, and is certainly not going to berate herself if her eyes happen to wander over the young's fit form.

Callie and Indra are in the restroom and the bartender is clearing some empty glasses from their table when Abby's first unsolicited suitor of the evening strolls her way. The bartender notices Abby's exasperated, uninterested look and glares at the approaching man so hard that he turns heel before even reaching the table.

Abby huffs out a short laugh and smiles graciously, adding a little extra charm in for good measure. "That was very effective. Thank you."

"My pleasure," the young man replies with a playful, chivalrous head tilt. The roguish smile he brandishes floods Abby with warmth and has her thankful for the darkness of the bar because she's certain she just turned three different shades of pink. The bartender heads back to the bar and Abby shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to get her reaction under control before her friends return from the bathroom.

"You ok?" Callie's voice suddenly rings out from her left, startling her. "You look a little flushed."

"Yeah, yes, I'm fine. Must be the strong drinks," Abby tries to cover, laughing weakly.

Indra quirks one eyebrow and glances over towards the bar, where the young brunette abruptly diverts her gaze away from their table and busies herself by wiping down the countertop. "Mm-hmm," Indra remarks, obviously unconvinced.

"Hey, we were talking," Callie jumps in, saving Abby from any further explanation, "and this bar is pretty dead." She grimaces in disgust before continuing. "And my heels keep sticking to the floor. We're ready to go somewhere else."

"She's right, Abby," Indra concurs. "This place is not what I had in mind for my one night off in weeks." She peeks back over at the bar. "Although, if you're not quite ready to go yet..." she trails off suggestively.

"What are you talking about?" Abby replies, feigning ignorance.

"Oh come on, you and that sweet young thing have been flirting all night."

Abby scoffs. "Indra, she can't be much older than Clarke."

"So what?" Indra shrugs. "You look hot, she clearly appreciates it, and we all got strong drinks out of the deal. I'm taking it as an excellent sign for the rest of our evening."

Abby laughs and her lips twitch into an amused smile. "She is very hot. And the attention is very nice."

"That's my girl," Indra cheers. She downs the remainder of her rum and coke and sets the glass back down on the table. "But now I think we should split, go find somewhere we can dance."

"Yes, I agree." Callie holds up her glass, tinkling the remaining ice around in it to show that it, too, is empty of liquor.

Abby sighs in resignation. She is certainly enjoying the treatment from the alluring young bartender, but this evening is really about being out with her friends. "Fine, we can go."

They begin to gather their purses and the bartender must notice because he returns to their table.

"You ladies ready to head out?"

"Sadly, yes," Indra answers, "but before we do, uh…" She points a finger, indicating the younger man, and the bartender picks up on her unspoken question.

"Bellamy," he supplies, his eyes darting over to briefly meet Abby's as he speaks.

Abby's heart thumps in her chest – the pointed glance coupled with the knowledge of the young man's name is enough to send a thrilling pulse through her veins.

"Bellamy," Indra continues, "not to put down your fine establishment here, but where might three older, yet classy, but also very overworked ladies find a place with a little dancing and a general lack of sleazy people?"

Bellamy lets out a small laugh. "No, it's cool. This place is a total shithole. I heard Club Mecha's pretty fun, but chill enough that you won't be fending off douchebags all night. It's like five blocks down and then left two more on Washington."

"Perfect! Thank you."

"I'll have your bill in just a second," Bellamy explains and retreats back to the bar.

The other two women reach for their purses to pay for their respective drinks, but Abby holds out a hand.

"Wait, I've got this one," she proposes, as she digs into her purse.

She's had the occasional date since her husband died, but they've generally been contacts through work, or set-ups from well-meaning friends – relatively attractive people that she has a lot in common with on paper, but who'd kindled no underlying spark. It's a true anomaly that she finds this young stranger in a bar more captivating than the seemingly ideal people she's previously been fixed up with. She doubts that Bellamy would have any interest in actually dating someone her age – the most Abby might get out of this is more flirtation or a brief, wild tryst – but she's not willing to let this opportunity pass.

As she pulls some cash out of her wallet, she also grabs a pen and one of her business cards, and scrawls her personal cell number on the back of the card. In the spirit of the evening, she tells herself – certainly not because she's already imagining what Blake's lithe form might look like in a more private setting.

"Did you just – " Indra raises one eyebrow, incredulous, but impressed.

Abby turns to them both and flashes a lopsided grin. "I'll meet you guys outside in a minute."

Callie and Indra exchange a look and both smile at the same time.

"Oooh, looks like we've got fun Abby tonight!" Callie declares.

"Hey! I can be fun," Abby retorts, and makes her way to the bar.

Bellamy's at the cash register with his back to her, and when he turns around and sees that it's Abby, he beams broadly at her. "Sad to see you all go. I have a feeling you'll be the best thing about my shift tonight." Abby doesn't miss the little twinkle in his eye as he speaks.

When Bellamy's hands over the bill, Abby's suspicions about the top-shelf liquor are confirmed. Her brow furrows and she frowns slightly. "Are you sure I don't owe you more than this?"

"Nah, it's all good," Bellamy says, shaking his head in dismissal of Abby's concern.

"Well," Abby starts, and pulls some cash out of her wallet, making sure to add in enough for a generous tip, "I certainly appreciated your exceptional service," she finishes, intentionally not saying we.

Bellamy must catch her deliberate wording because his nostrils flare slightly and he runs the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip. "Any time," he counters.

Abby places the bill and bundle of cash on the bar, the card with her phone number on it tucked underneath. She turns to go join her friends, but she can't resist firing back one last glance towards the bar. If the cheeky smirk directed her way is any indication, Bellamy's discovered her phone number, and most certainly seems interested.

"I can definitely be fun," Abby muses to herself, and as their evening progresses she finds it difficult to think of anything else but that delightful smirk.

It turns out that the bartending gig is just a night job to help finance the classic car garage Bellamy has recently set up, and it also turns out that Abby can now scratch off "getting eaten out on the hood of a 1958 Chevy Impala" from her bucket list.

Somehow meeting for an introductory coffee quickly evolved into blatant, mutual flirtation – then into "checking out the garage," kissing, and finally a night in which Dr. Abigail Griffin, M.D., of the WASPy, New England Griffins (she'd kept her maiden name), receives the sex and ultimately best oral sex of her life from a car mechanic who is a year or two older at best than Abby's own daughter.

Abby's simple-but-chic taupe dress is rucked up around her hips, her ankles thrown over Bellamy's shoulders where the young man kneels at the foot of the car's hood. She's got one hand extended behind her head, gripping the top edge of the hood, while the other rhythmically tugs at Bellamy's dark hair. As she comes – god, so much harder than all those lonely nights pleasuring herself at home – she realizes she hasn't even gotten Bellamy's last name yet.

Bellamy glances up from between Abby's legs, swipes a thumb across the wetness on his lips, and starts to stand and oh – there's that smirk again, brash and confident, yet somehow without a hint of conceit.

Abby props herself up on her elbows and pulls at the hem of her dress, returning it to a more modest state. She glances up at Bellamy, in faded jeans and a worn red jacket, framed by a background of hanging car parts and tools displayed along the back wall. Bellamy holds out one hand to help her off the hood of the car, and when Abby is upright once more, Bellamy holds out the other with Abby's panties draped over one finger.

"Well, Doc, you sure are fun," Bellamy drawls out, shamelessly running his gaze over Abby's body once more.

Abby had been totally prepared for this to be a one-time thing, a well-earned release of tension with someone who still has both the stamina and non-committal nature of youth on their side. But one last look up at Bellamy's twinkling hazel eyes and that goddamned smirk, and ohhh – Abby could get used to this.

Abby sometimes meets Callie and Indra at a coffee shop that's in a fairly convenient location for them all. The drinks seem like they get more and more overpriced every year, but the view is unmatched as far as local coffee shops go. Most of the tables are lined up along large picture windows that overlook a grassy, open park right by the bay. The people-watching is fantastic, and the get-together gives them a chance to catch up.

"You did WHAT?" Callie shrieks, sputtering out some of her caramel vanilla latte. She sets her mug down roughly and it thunks against the table, some of the foam sloshing over the side. Grabbing a napkin to dab at her lips, then at the mess on the table, she continues to grill Abby with rapid-fire questions. "With the bartender from that first bar? The very, very, very young bartender? On the first date?!"

Abby's cheeks go scarlet, but she just shrugs one shoulder and goes back to sipping her coffee.

Indra just tosses her head back and cackles.

Abby realizes she's never going to hear the end of this from them – especially when they find out that she's seeing the very, very, very young Bellamy again on Friday night.

Abby and Bellamy use more coffee dates or "dropping by the shop" as pretense for rushed, up-against-the-wall, hands-down-the-pants sex, but neither one of them has seen the other totally naked yet. After an actual, going out to dinner attempt at a date, they relocate to Abby's house, and they barely make it inside the front door before their lips connect.

Bellamy's a remarkably adept kisser, knowing just when to be soft, when to be hard, when to add in the light caress of his tongue or the sharp flash of his teeth. He's able to leave Abby a quivering mess without a piece of clothing ever being removed, and kissing him has rapidly become one of Abby's favorite things to do.

Abby gingerly climbs backwards up the stairs, tugging Bellamy towards her bedroom as they start to shed their clothes. Their kissing pauses only long enough for them to chuckle against each other's lips at their occasional stumbles and missteps.

They make it to the edge of the bed, Abby now in just her bra and panties, Bellamy shirtless but still in jeans, and Abby's working on unbuckling Bellamy's belt. And Bellamy's acting not shy, exactly, but there's just the barest hint of skittishness to hiđ that has Abby perplexed. Bellamy's eyes keep darting around the room, never focusing on Abby's for more than a few seconds at a time, and her breathing seems too quick and shallow. The jeans finally drop to the floor, and as Abby steps in closer to Bellamy, his unclothed knee bumps against hard metal and oh, now she gets it.

Bellamy had told her about his injury and subsequent partial amputation when they had first started meeting up – "Motorcycle accident when I was eighteen. Sometimes it sucks, but, you know, whatever," was all Bellamy had offered up as explanation – but it hadn't really come up since.

Abby glances down – the prosthetic lower limb is secured just below the point of Bellamy's left knee, while the sock liner continues partially onto his thigh. She looks back up at Bellamy, trying to read the emotion in his eyes. Once she thinks she's got a handle on it – Bellamy couldn't give a fuck about what she thinks, but if Abby were to be an ass about this Bellamy wouldn't hesitate to leave and never look back – she wraps her arms around Bellamy's waist and pulls him towards her. She tries not to flatter herself into thinking that the other thought she can see ghosting across those eyes is that Bellamy really, really doesn't want to have any reason to walk out her door.

"Bio-Cadence is a great brand," Abby says, unperturbed. She'd noticed the label stamped into the metal and had seen enough vendors at medical conferences to know that the company was one of the best in the prosthetics industry. She begins lightly raking her fingernails up and down the small of Bellamy's back, occasionally dipping below the waistband of Bellamy's underwear. The movement is meant to be enticing, but also comforting – an attempt to alleviate any residual fears Bellamy may have about Abby being anything less than enthusiastic about this new step in their affair.

Her words and touch have the desired effect, and Bellamy'd body relaxes almost imperceptibly. Abby briefly wonders how many people she's had to walk out on.

"Yeah, it is. It was fuckin' expensive, though," Bellamy complains, but he's smiling, his gaze drifting down to the swell of cleavage displayed by Abby's bra.

"I'll bet," Abby replies, chuckling at where Bellamy's attention has been directed. But then she remembers that Bellamy's been on his own since he was sixteen – early emancipation, Bellamy had divulged – and Abby realizes the night-time bartending gig may not have been just to help pay off the car shop.

She's a medical doctor, and an ex-trauma surgeon – she knows exactly the physical ordeal Bellamy must have gone through, and can only imagine the emotional toll such an injury must have taken. They haven't known each other for that long, but Abby already understands that if anyone could handle such a curve-ball, it's the formidable young man standing before her. She files the thought away under the ever-growing list of Things That Are Endlessly Compelling About Bellamy Blake, and gets back to worshipping Bellamy's body in all the ways it deserves.

It turns out that the only thing better – automobile sex-wise, that is – than getting eaten out on the hood of a 1958 Chevy Impala is riding Bellamy's cock in the backseat of a 1967 Pontiac GTO.

The outside of the once midnight black car is pockmarked by dents and rust, but somehow the interior has managed to remain in near-pristine condition. Abby's panties, blouse, and bra have been tossed haphazardly on the floorboards and she's wearing just her skirt, straddling Bellamy's lap with her bare knees digging into the black leather of the bench seat. Bellamy's overalls are pulled down low enough to access his dick, and he's buried inside Abby while they make-out like teenagers who are about to be late for curfew.

"I've been erected all day," Bellamy murmurs against Abby's lips, and he thrusts a little deeper to emphasize what he's talking about. "Just waiting for you."

The thought of Bellamy spending the whole day thinking of her – of doing this with her – threatens to send Abby over the edge already. She whimpers and digs her nails into Bellamy's shoulders. She nips at Bellamy's lower lip, and then soothes the spot with her tongue.

"You're sure this isn't one of your clients' cars?" Abby tries to confirm. Bellamy's already assured her that it isn't, but she's still worried that they're defiling a complete stranger's property – though she's rapidly approaching a point past caring.

"Yeah, I'm just fixing it up for a friend," Bellamy grunts out, one corner of her mouth quirking up devilishly. "Finn's gonna be so pissed I got some in this car before he did."

Abby pulls back, gasping in horror. "Oh, don't you dare breathe a word of this to him."

Bellamy lets out a whine of protest, his mouth forming into a pout. He grips Abby's hips harder as he leans further back into the seat. The move forces Abby to follow him, and changes the angle of cock allowing it to hit all sorts of new spots that have Abby slamming her eyes shut against the sudden bliss. She sucks in a lungful of air and clutches her arms around Bellamy's neck and upper back for leverage, grinding against him more forcefully, the car starting to rock and squeak on its chassis.

She buries her face against Bellamy's neck and gasps against the skin there. "But don't you dare get this car back to him anytime soon."

Out of the corner of her eye Abby catches the smile return to Bellamy's face, then sees it morph into an entirely different expression of pleasure as Abby's lips and tongue tease at the spot just below Bellamy's earlobe.

It's Abby's volunteer day at the free clinic at Indra's shelter, and she takes a moment before she starts her shift to stop into Indra's office. As soon as she steps in, Indra's eyes goes wide.

"Is that a hickey?"

Shit.

Shit.

Bellamy Blake had been rather enthusiastic the previous evening, but apparently Abby completely missed the evidence of her ardor in the mirror. She can't see the mark but fumbles with her collar anyway, pulling it up in an attempt to hide it.

Indra crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. "Do we need to start referring to you as Mrs. Robinson?"

"Indra, come on," Abby admonishes, her cheeks burning with both embarrassment and frustration. "I can't see patients like this."

Indra sighs and shakes her head. "Monroe in the kitchen is about your shade. She probably has some concealer you could use."

Abby grins sheepishly. "Thanks."

The same thing happens again two weeks later at Abby's clinic, one of the nurses catching her in time to warn her just before she's due at a meeting. It's definitely more than a little mortifying, but she also can't help the small thrill she gets from feeling marked like this – from carrying a reminder of Bellamy Blake around on her own body. But she can't risk being this unprofessional at work, so she's either going to have to warn Bellamy go go easier on her, or start carrying some concealer around with her at all times.

On the way home from work she stops off at the drugstore and picks up a package of three that will match her skin tone.

Abby loses a long-time patient who's been living with leukemia for years, and although it happens much less frequently now that she's no longer at the hospital, it's still one of the worst feelings imaginable. It calls into question her faith in medicine, in her abilities as a healer, and, after Jake's passing, always serves as a reminder of her own personal connection to death.

Normally she'd call Callie or Indra to help her process such a tragedy, but this time around she's feeling like she doesn't want platitudes or medical discussion or therapy-grade rationalizing – she just wants to sit with her grief and be quiet and still for a while.

But she also doesn't want to be alone.

She wants to call Bellamy but she's not quite sure if they're at that stage in this whatever-it-is they're doing with each other – they've only ever met up when sex was in the cards, and Abby's definitely not in the mood tonight.

She sits on her couch with her knees drawn up, her arms hooked around them, and stares at the phone in her hand. Repeatedly opening and closing the contacts page on her phone, her finger hovers over Bellamy's name each time.

She draws in a deep, steadying breath, then finally taps Bellamy's name and hits the call button.

"Hey, sexy," Bellamy answers on the fourth ring.

"Hi," Abby greets, and laughs lightly. "I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight? Maybe to just, um, watch a movie or something?" Abby grimaces and shakes her head at how hesitant she sounds.

"Just watch a movie?" Bellamy asks suggestively, and Abby can imagine the eyebrow wagging she's doing on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, actually," Abby replies, chuckling nervously. She clears her throat before explaining. "Um, I lost a patient today, and I just…could use some company, I guess."

There's a few seconds of uncomfortable silence and Abby starts chewing at her lip.

"Shoot, I'm sorry to hear that, but I can't," Bellamy explains, and Abby's heart sinks. "I'm stuck at the garage. Two people called in sick today and I've gotta get this car done tonight…"

The flirtatious tone is completely gone, and Abby worries that she's being blown off.

"Oh, no, it's fine. It's no problem," she responds, hoping she sounds less crushed than she feels.

"…but if you want," Bellamy continues, "you can come over here and hang out while I finish up."

Abby closes her eyes and exhales hard, angling the phone away just in time for Bellamy to be unable to hear her relief. She scrubs a hand over her face, then smiles broadly and nods, even though there's no one there to see it. "I'd like that. Thank you."

When Abby arrives, Bellamy has had Thai food delivered and she's stashed some beers in a mini fridge in the corner.

Abby perches on top of a workbench, her legs dangling in the air, crossed at the ankles. She eats straight out of the take-out container and watches Bellamy work. It's not exactly the quiet she was hoping for, but it's still soothing and hypnotic, Bellamy's movements efficient and self-assured. Bellamy, every exposed scrap of skin streaked with grease, occasionally wanders Abby's way and takes a few bites of food and sips from his own beer. Not once does she return to the car without resting his hand on Abby's thigh, stroking comforting circles over it with her fingertips and palm, and even though she keeps leaving grease stains on her pants, this is all somehow just what Abby needed.

Bellamy's moved into the small apartment right above the garage in order to cut down on commuting, and after she's finished working on the car she and Abby venture upstairs. Bellamy takes a quick shower then brings out more beers. They settle on the couch, Bellamy flipping through channels on the TV. When the screen comes to rest on The Princess Bride, Abby's hand shoots forward and lands on top of Bellamy's on the remote. Clarke had loved this movie when she was little, but Abby doesn't think she herself has watched it the whole way through. Tonight is the perfect opportunity to rectify that.

As they watch the film, Abby's body steadily gravitates closer to Bellamy's. She shifts over until her hip is pressed against Bellamy's, then tucks herself against her side. When she nuzzles her cheek into his shoulder, Bellamy stretches an arm along the back of the couch, then wraps it around Abby's shoulders, drawing her even closer. She misses some crucial dialogue because she takes a few seconds to just revel in the sensation of Bellamy holding her.

By the latter half of the film Abby's sprawled out on the couch, her head resting in Bellamy's lap. Bellamy ever-so-gently runs his fingers through her hair and massages her scalp, and neither of them are really even watching the movie anymore.

Afterwards it becomes a thing that whenever Abby makes a particularly bossy request, Bellamy rolls his eyes then dons a really dopey, lovesick expression on her face and answers, "As you wish."


	2. II

Clarke comes home for the week of spring break, but she and Abby end up unable to spend much time with each other. Abby had planned to take a few days off to be with her daughter, but a bout of stomach flu has several of the other clinicians out, leaving her to cover for them during the day. And Clarke spends a good portion of her evenings out reuniting with old friends from the neighborhood.

It's Clarke's second-to-last night of break and Abby's had to bring home a mountain of paperwork to trudge through – paperless workplace, my ass – and they're both frustrated that they haven't quite been able to connect over the break.

"Are we at least going to eat dinner together?" Clarke complains as Abby sits at the dining room table, poring over her files.

"Yes, sweetie, I'm sorry. Just let me get to a point where I can take a break," Abby placates.

Clarke flutters around the house as she waits for Abby, busying herself with texting and playing games on her phone.

"Mom, the wi-fi's not working on my phone, is it working on yours?"

Not even glancing up from her stack of files, Abby nods at where her cell rests at the end of the table. "I don't know, honey, check."

Out of her peripheral vision, Abby vaguely registers Clarke picking up the phone.

"Mom."

"Hmm?"

"MOM. Who the hell is Bellamy and why is he saying she wants to – ohmygod. I just – no, I don't even want to know." Clarke drops the phone on the table and shudders, brushing her hands off on her pants like the phone had been contaminated. Then she storms off upstairs.

Abby immediately abandons the paperwork and jumps out of her chair, snatching the phone up.

"Fuck," she breathes out, putting a hand to her forehead, as soon as she sees the words "deep inside" staring back at her from the screen. Normally such texts from Bellamy cause an electrifying stir of heat and quickening of her pulse, but this one's got her heart racing for all the wrong reasons. Besides her daughter now being privy to some rather detailed information about her sex life, Abby's sure this will lead to some questions about the nature of her relationship with Bellamy – questions that she's not sure if she can answer for herself, let alone other people.

She gives Clarke some space, then manages to coax her out of her room with the enticing aroma of a meal not cooked on a dorm-room hot plate. As they eat they stick to small talk and avoid meeting each other's eyes. After dinner Abby returns to her paperwork and Clarke plants herself in the living room with her drawing pad, but before she heads back upstairs for bed Clarke stops and wraps her mother in a hug.

"Sorry, Mom, it's just – ugh, sex and parents, you know," she says, scrunching up her face and shuddering again.

Then she smiles warmly and deposits on the table a charcoal portrait she's done of Abby.

"You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to. Just want you to be happy," she murmurs, kissing Abby on top of the head before retreating upstairs.

Abby picks up the paper and studies every angle, every shadow. It's gorgeous – Clarke is so, so talented – and all Abby can think is, "I am."

Despite all the sex she and Bellamy are having, neither one of them have slept a full night over yet, a variety of flimsy excuses allowing them to continue to pretend that they're keeping things super casual.

The first time they spend a night together ends up completely unplanned. They've given each other four orgasms, and Abby's feeling like she's still got it, because she definitely could've gone another round, but Bellamy's the one who's already out like a light.

Bellamy's facing her, half on her stomach and half on her side, soft, even breaths dissipating into the bedding. Abby pulls the covers up over them both, and curls her arm over Bellamy's bare waist. This first overnighter may not exactly have been prearranged, but she's not about to wake a peacefully sleeping Bellamy just to kick him out of her bed, and, if she's being totally honest with herself, she's tired of acting like she doesn't dream of lazy morning sex and leisurely brunches and waking up entwined and warm. And the way that Bellamy now burrows closer to her, even in sleep, gives her confidence that neither of them will regret this impromptu turn of events in the morning. Abby drifts off to sleep, basking in the calm of the heated body lying next to hers.

She wakes shortly before Bellamy does, and takes the opportunity to gaze at her, the breaking early morning light highlighting details she's never noticed before – a faint scar nestled amongst one eyebrow, a light dusting of freckles along the inside of one bicep, the rest of his dark hair. When Bellamy starts to stir, Abby reaches over and brushes a lock out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"Morning," she says, smiling at Bellamy's sleepy form.

"Mmf, mornin'." Bellamy grumbles out the barely intelligible words and blinks repeatedly, struggling to keep his eyes open.

Abby snickers. Somebody is definitely not a morning person.

"Breakfast?" she inquires.

"Yes, please," Bellamy mumbles against his pillow, though his eyes are still laboring to focus on Abby.

Abby grabs one corner of the sheets and makes a move to get up, but Bellamy's arm flails out and traps her back in the bed.

"Mmm, not yet though," Bellamy says as he tightens his arm around Abby's hip, and snuggles back into Abby's side. Abby is only too happy to stay right where she is, and languid mornings filled with sex and brunch and intertwined limbs no longer seem so out of reach.

Bellamy jokingly calls her "dr ma'am" and something snaps in Abby, and the next thing she knows she's accusing Bellamy of being juvenile and impulsive and not really knowing what he wants, and a variety of other things that may have no basis in fact, but that he has been worried about anyway. There's so much they haven't talked about – the age difference, their romantic histories, what they're looking for in a relationship, or if they even want one – not wanting to burst the bubble on whatever it is they've been doing with each other up until this point. And as frightened as Abby is to let someone in again after Jake, he's just as scared to tie someone down who's still got their whole life ahead of them.

Abby throws some choice words about, words like "child" and "immature" and "old enough to be your mother" – words that will poke at the very essence of the insecurities between the two of them.

By the end of her tirade, Abby is panting hard, nostrils flaring, her fists repeatedly clenching and unclenching at her sides. Bellamy's eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open silently, looking stunned at the turn her innocent comment has taken.

Abby expects Bellamy to fire back in his typical style – puffed chest, defiantly tilted chin, his trademark smirk turned into a sneer – because she's seen him pissed off before, and oh, it is a spectacle to behold. But the younger man's gaze softens and his head cocks to one side, brow furrowed in contemplation. Abby swallows hard, shuffling her feet and looking off to one side of Bellamy, unable to keep eye contact with the wounded, yet understanding expression.

"Do you want to talk?" Bellamy queries, his voice measured and even.

"No," Abby answers stubbornly.

There's a long pause before Bellamy speaks again. "Should I go?"

Abby nods weakly, still unable to meet Bellamy's eyes.

Bellamy takes in a deep breath and exhales it slowly, and it somehow sounds both disappointed and forgiving.

Bellamy turns to go and Abby is able to watch him again now that those revealing eyes are no longer trained on her. But Bellamy stops after a few steps and spins back around.

"Call me when you stop freaking out," Bellamy offers, his lips curving up in a wistful smile. "I'll still be here."

Abby's heart clenches at the gentle words, but she still lets Bellamy leave. They don't talk for three days, and for someone who just started a fight because she hadn't thought the affection between them could last, Abby can't believe how much time she spends fending off tears.

On the fourth day Abby finally caves, and leaves a voicemail on Bellamy's cell – "Hey. I…I'm so sorry. I miss you. If that offer still stands, yes, I would like to talk."

Abby plans an elaborate apology speech, but it flies right out the window as soon as she opens her front door to Bellamy's compassionate and perceptive gaze.

"Oh god," Abby groans plaintively, her eyes already starting to tear up. She runs her palms over her cheeks, then sweeps one hand through her hair. "Bellamy, I'm so – "

"Hey, you don't have to apologize anymore. I get it," Bellamy says, stepping up to Abby and taking her hands in his own. "I get it," he repeats quietly, looking down at their entwined hands.

Abby takes a deep, shuddering breath. "You're just so young, and you're smart and beautiful, and you could have anyone in the whole world–"

"I know," Bellamy says with that smug smirk, and this is a Very Serious Discussion but Abby laughs and rolls her eyes. "And I'm here. So what does that tell you?"

Bellamy's eyes meet hers, and Abby's heart swells at the sincerity she sees there. She squeezes Bellamy's hands. "I just don't want you to get involved in anything that you don't really want."

Bellamy's smirk shifts into a gentle grin. "Abby," he scoffs, "do you seriously think anybody could make me do something I don't want to do?"

Abby laughs and smiles back, shaking her head. Bellamy may be young, but Abby's never met anyone as confident and independent and less likely to be coerced into anything unwelcome. If Abby ends up lucky enough to have a place in her life, it would be because Bellamy truly wants her there.

Abby leads Bellamy over to the couch and they talk, finally talk. And it's hard and messy and emotional, but they both come out of it affirming that yes, this thing between them matters, and no, neither of them really knows what they're doing, but maybe they can figure it out together.

Abby would have expected make-up sex with Bellamy to be rough and wild, because she's seen how the younger man has handled hard and messy and emotional before. But once again Bellamy surprises her, and she's being so unbelievably tender with her that Abby finds herself fighting tears again for an entirely different reason.

Bellamy cups Abby's face, stroking her cheek with his thumb, gently coaxing her into every meeting of their lips. He places her palm over Abby's thrumming heart, letting it rest there for long moments, before his hand slowly descends between their bodies. Before his cock enters her, he gazes searchingly into Abby's eyes. And as they start to move and writhe, he keeps breathing out Abby's name like it's a question and a promise and a prayer.

Abby clutches at Bellamy's back, drawing her as close as she can, holding on so hard that she's sure her fingernails will leave bruises and crescent-shaped marks. Every kiss, every brief glimpse up into Bellamy's expressive eyes leaves Abby's chest so constricted it feels like it could collapse in on itself. When she comes, she does so without uttering a sound – partially because that tightness in her chest won't allow her breath to escape, but mostly because she doesn't trust her voice to emit anything other than "I love you," to him, and it's still too soon.

Bellamy is a terrible cook, his neglectful upbringing and subsequent early emancipation leaving her to fend for herself more often than not. She's far more acquainted with frozen pizzas and microwaveable burritos than fresh foods, and Abby's been using her well-appointed kitchen to impart on Bellamy the pleasures of home-cooked meals. Sometimes they prepare food together, Abby teaching Bellamy knife skills or the best way to roast a chicken, but sometimes Bellamy just sits on the counter and observes Abby's mastery of the space.

Bellamy comes over for dinner for the third night in a row, eager to try out the puttanesca that Abby claims is one of her specialties. She's brought a bottle of what she terms "fancy people wine," which is what she calls any bottle that costs more than twelve dollars.

They're sipping wine in the kitchen, Bellamy minding a bubbling pot of pasta while Abby is stationed over a sizzling skillet. Abby's struggling to open a jar of capers, and with a grunt of frustration she hands the jar over to Bellamy.

Bellamy pops the jar open on the first try and passes it back over to Abby. They meet each other's eyes and share a knowing grin. They've only officially been dating for a few months but it already feels a little bit like they've done this a thousand times before.

Then Bellamy's smile turns impish and he quirks an eyebrow. "You getting soft on me, Doc? Need to go to the gym more?" she taunts, and there goes the tender moment.

The longer they've been seeing each other, the more comfortable they've become with revealing certain aspects of their personalities. So Bellamy's cheeky comments don't really spoil the mood – all he's actually done is tap into the fact that Abby maybe has a little bit of a power-play kink, one that Bellamy's been perfectly willing to both instigate and indulge.

Abby switches off the burners and advances on Bellamy.

"Hmm, soft, huh?" she challenges with narrowed eyes and her own mischievous grin, and their dinner gets cold because Bellamy ends up backed against the refrigerator instead, his pants around her ankles and arms trapped behind his back, begging a very smug Abby for release.

Clarke and her friend Monty decide to take a road trip over summer break, and Abby insists they stop in town before heading out because she just happens to know a great mechanic who can make sure Clarke's car will safely make the rest of the 1500-mile trek. That's how Clarke finds out what Bellamy does for a living, and also how she discovers exactly how old Bellamy is.

"Mom! Holy shit. Mom!" Clarke exclaims, jaw dropped down to the floor, at the same time Monty hoots out, "Way to go, Dr. Griffin!"

Abby rolls her eyes at both of them, but smiles inwardly, and the next time she sees Bellamy, swaggering into her home in a white tank top, lean muscles straining beneath tanned skin, she can't help but think to herself, "way to go, Dr. Griffin."

Callie and Indra still aren't letting up on the "older woman seduces a sweet young thing" jokes, and Abby endures a plethora of comments from them along the lines of "Hey, Maude, how's Harold?" or "You spending another weekend with the cub?"

The two of them go through a phase where they take to referring to Bellamy as "the pool-boy."

"You still schtupping the pool-boy, Abby?"

"You must really like those special services the pool-boy offers, huh?"

Abby knows they don't really mean anything by it, that it's probably just payback – Abby teased Callie relentlessly for actually taking a summer job as a pool cleaner back when the two of them were high school sweethearts. She remembers making plenty of risqué comments about Callie and all the bored housewives she was working for.

The ribbing from Callie and Indra has never once been mean-spirited, though, and still isn't now. But this particular line of joking skirts too far into the realm of "affluent suburbanite takes advantage of the help" for her tastes. It's one thing when Abby answers her front door to Bellamy asking "Did the lady of the house call about needing something serviced?" – as Bellamy flashes that permanently sly grin. But it's totally another thing coming from people outside her relationship.

And that's what it was with Bellamy at this point, an actual relationship. Abby can't imagine her friends ever letting up about the age difference – god knows even she still marvels at the course her life has taken – but she does need them to be respectful about who Bellamy is, both as an individual and in relation to Abby.

"Hey guys, cool it with the pool-girl stuff, ok?" Abby requests at the coffee shop one day. "I know she's young, but Bellamy's brilliant and capable and certainly no one's servant."

Callie and Indra both bow their heads, looking suitably contrite.

"Sorry, darling," Callie says, and the use of the old term of endearment lets Abby know she's serious. "We'll stop." Callie glances over at Indra, who nods in agreement. Then Callie tilts her head and fixes her gaze back on Abby. "You really care about her, don't you?" she asks, her lips curling into a quizzical smile.

"I love her," Abby declares without hesitation, and both Callie and Indra draw back in shock at her no-nonsense tone.

The age-gap jokes will never really end, but now she thinks her friends finally understand that this thing between her and Bellamy is not going away – and it's not something to be trifled with.

Abby invites Bellamy to be her plus-one at what turns out to be a ridiculously pretentious charity event for the clinic. The dimmed lights in the hotel ballroom accentuate the vases with floating candles at the center of each table, and tuxedo-clad waiters circulate trays laden with champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres. A jazz quartet plays in one corner, and Abby counts no less than five ice sculptures positioned around the room. Sometimes you have to spend money to make money, but the clinic could give free prenatal exams for a year for what this event costs.

Bellamy looks stunning in a floor-length, sleek white shirt and black party, but is also clearly one-hundred percent done with the party within twenty minutes of their arrival.

They're mostly surrounded by stuffy old white men from the medical community, some of whom are not shy about giving them some rather pointed looks. These men have absolutely no right to be judgmental – over the years Abby has met both the vapid trophy wives and the mistresses. And she's pretty sure the age difference between Bellamy and herself pales in comparison to the age gap between a good portion of these men and the women in their lives.

They get seated at a table right next to a board chairman that Abby's complained about on numerous occasions for being a total stick-in-the-mud, and neither of them are really enjoying the evening. So it's no wonder they take full advantage of the open bar.

"Who are all these assholes?" Bellamy growls, returning from the bar with two more whiskey gingers. She sits back down, setting one drink in front of Abby, and hooks a thumb towards a corner of the ballroom. "That jackass in the plaid bow tie will not stop glaring at us."

Abby swats at her arm, her eyes flashing a warning to keep her voice down. "These assholes are my 'esteemed' colleagues," she whispers, rolling her eyes. "And they're spending a small fortune tonight to help the clinic keep doling out free vaccinations. So please, no bloodshed, ok?"

"I can't promise anything," Bellamy mutters over the rim of his glass.

Abby snorts and clamps a hand over her mouth, tamping down on the giggles that threaten to burst forth. All the alcohol she's consumed so far has her pleasantly tipsy, infusing her body with a mellow buzz despite the unfavorable aspects of the evening.

The crowd quiets down as the self-congratulatory speeches start, and by the time the second speech ends, Bellamy gets up from the table once again.

"I need another drink if I'm gonna sit through this crap," she declares. "You want one?"

Abby waves a hand and shakes her head, turning her attention back to the podium as Bellamy heads toward the bar.

Three more speakers finish, and Abby looks in the direction Bellamy went. There's no line at the bar, most of the attendees in their seats listening to the speeches, but Bellamy is nowhere to be found. Abby cranes her neck around, just beginning to feel an inkling of worry, when she hears her phone buzz in her purse.

Meet me by the bathrooms.

She's intrigued by the text but more than a little suspicious, and when she finds Bellamy she follows him past the kitchen, through a corridor, and down two flights of stairs marked with "Employees Only" signs. Bellamy guides her into a supply closet with a newly-damaged lock on the door handle. Abby shoots him an accusatory look.

"Huh. Weird," Bellamy fibs, shrugging.

Once inside, Bellamy shuts the door behind them. She pulls out an opened bottle of champagne from behind a stack of cardboard boxes, and presents it to Abby.

"How'd you manage to acquire a whole bottle of champagne?"

"I have my ways," Bellamy replies, winking at her.

Abby chuckles, shaking her head, but accepts the offering and takes a few swigs from the bottle. Bellamy steps closer into Abby's personal space, and watches the muscles of Abby's neck work as she drinks. Heat starts to prickle up Abby's forearms. It has little to do with the alcohol, and everything to do with the hungry gaze directed her way.

Bellamy takes the bottle back and sets it on a wire shelf next to some paper plates and cups. He trails her fingers down the column of Abby's throat, towards the dip in Abby's red dress where her cleavage peeks out, and Abby has to laugh again because Bellamy really has a thing for her breasts. But then Bellamy's leaned in close enough that their bodies brush against one another's, and Abby bites her lip and breathes in sharply through her nose. When Bellamy grins ear-to-ear and whispers, "I think I found us a better party," Abby surges forward and claims Bellamy's lips with her own.

Abby gets the impression that Bellamy isn't someone who wants a lot of fuss or fancy things on his birthday, so she decides to do something a little unconventional. A monster truck show at the local coliseum is definitely not Abby's kind of thing – the roar of the vehicles is horrendously loud, the air is thick with dust and the smell of exhaust, and she couldn't care less about how much horsepower Grave Digger's engine has – but there's a huge grin plastered on Bellamy's face throughout the show, a grin that becomes even more resplendent after the main event ends.

Abby's called in a favor with a colleague whose son works security there, so they are allowed to go back into the staging area where they keep the trucks, dirt bikes, and the giant, flame-spewing scrap-metal robot dinosaur. Bellamy spends an hour climbing all over the neon-and-dirt-encrusted vehicles and chatting with their mechanics, and Abby snaps a picture of her standing in front of a truck tire that's taller than she is.

On the way out Bellamy scoops Abby up at the waist, gathering her into an intense hug that actually lifts her off the ground a little.

"Thank you sooooo much!" Bellamy says, beaming at Abby with that impossibly dazzling and earnest smile, and Abby is unable to resist forming a matching one.

Later, when they're lying spent and sweaty in each other's arms, Bellamy whispers, "best birthday ever," right before he drifts off to sleep, and Abby's heart just soars. She's the one who put that smile on Bellamy's face, who brought about that elation in her voice, and Abby has every intention of carrying out such feats as often as possible.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final Chapter

One fall weekend Abby and Bellamy rent a secluded cabin in the woods, complete with a view of a babbling creek from the outdoor cedar hot tub. It's a spendy indulgence, but Bellamy insists on paying for half the cost, even though Abby makes more than enough money, and the car shop's been struggling since Bellamy lost Wells to aviation school.

According to the area guidebook, there's a trail behind the cabin that leads to a small waterfall about four miles away. They saunter along the path, holding hands, as birds sing merrily and soft rays of sunlight streak down through the branches.

"This is usually the part where the guy in the hockey mask jumps out from behind a tree," Bellamy says, interrupting the calm.

Abby whips her head towards her. "Excuse me?"

"You know. Like in horror movies."

Abby squints her eyes and shakes her head in confusion.

"You know, like when the kids at summer camp – or the horny camp counselors – are walking through the woods…" Bellamy gestures with her free hand, trying to get Abby to catch on. "…Oblivious to the psycho lurking in the forest…"

Abby vaguely understands the references, but she's never really cared for those sorts of films. She'd usually leave the room if Clarke was watching them, much preferring intelligent thrillers or complex mysteries to the blood-and-gore soaked films.

"This is supposed to be a relaxing, romantic weekend, Bellamy," Abby chides mildly, "not a setup for a scary movie."

"Don't worry, Doc." Bellamy grins and affectionately bumps her shoulder against Abby's. "I'll romantically save you if anybody jumps out at us with a machete."

Abby rolls her eyes and chuckles, but gives Bellamy's hand a fond squeeze – it may have been a ridiculous line, but she knows Bellamy means every word of it.

After the hike Abby insists on using the hot tub. Her arches are sore and tight, her knees stiff and achy, and the warm water will do wonders for her battered muscles. Bellamy's younger body fared better on the journey – though she does admit that her injured leg is a bit tired – but she's more than enthusiastic about joining in when Abby suggests they soak naked.

Abby's reclining against Bellamy's chest, cradled in between Bellamy's legs, the water gently swirling and bubbling around them. The back of her head rests on Bellamy's shoulder, and Bellamy idly runs the fingers of one hand along Abby's forearm under the water. The sun is just setting, and the sky's purple and orange hues shimmer in the rippling water of the creek. There's a faint animal howl in the distance that disrupts the serenity.

"Probably a werewolf," Bellamy mutters.

"Bellamy," Abby warns, but one corner of her mouth quirks up.

"I wonder if there's a full moon tonight."

"You're impossible," Abby says, lightly pinching Bellamy's naked thigh. Bellamy's body jerks and she lets out a small yelp, then plants an apologetic kiss against Abby's neck.

After their soak they eat dinner and retire to the rustic living room, foregoing the lodge-style couch in favor of sprawling out on an afghan on the floor. They're lying on their backs, side-by-side, Bellamy's bare toes playfully twiddling with Abby's foot. A fire roars and crackles in the brick fireplace.

Bellamy turns her head towards her, sighing contentedly, and smiles sweetly. "I think this is the part where the zombies bust in," she says, and her smile arcs wickedly.

And that's it. Abby's heard one too many quips about buxom camp counselors and murderous forest-dwellers.

She pushes off the floor and vaults on top of Bellamy, straddling her hips and pinning her hands above her head.

"I think this is the part where we put that damned mouth of yours to better uses," she declares, smiling back with her own wicked grin.

Abby and Bellamy decide that they should plan some kind of get together where their friends – their very, incredibly different friends – can meet each other, so one Saturday everyone comes over to Abby's house for a game night.

Abby is prepared for it to be a complete and utter disaster – there's a good twenty year generational gap between Abby's circle of friends and Bellamy's, and she can't think of much they might all have in common. They won't even have the buffer of alcohol to relieve any awkwardness, because Abby refuses to provide booze to an underage Octavia, especially with a politician and an ex-lawyer in the house.

But Callie and Lincoln show up wearing matching gym shirts – "Oh my god, you do cross-fit at Ark Fitness, too?" – and Indra and Octavia are endearingly competitive right off the bat. Soon it's one in the morning and laughter and animated chatter echoes off the walls so loudly that Abby's a bit worried about the neighbors calling in a noise complaint.

They're all seated around the dining room table playing Uno, and thank god it's not poker because Octavia doesn't have a poker face to save her life. She's grinning smugly, glibly flaunting the one card left in her hand, moments away from victory. But then Indra locks eyes with her, her lips curling into a Cheshire smile. She slowly places a draw four card down on the table in front of Octavia, and taps it four times with her index finger.

"Son of a – " Octavia's face falls and she lets out a pained groan, slamming her card down. She puts her elbows on the table and her head falls forward into the palms of her hands.

"I'm going to fucking motherfucking murder you in your fucking sleep," she snarls, and shakes her head.

Indra just continues to beam in satisfaction and sits up straighter in her chair. "You'll need this," she gloats cheerily, as she pushes the draw-deck closer to Octavia.

Abby and Bellamy glance at each other over Octavia's bowed head, and grin in unison. There was no reason to worry about how well this disparate group of people would get along.

Bellamy keeps trying to get out of having dinner with Clarke, but it's not until they're lying on their backs in Bellamy's bed in his small apartment above the struggling car shop that Abby finally understands why.

"Abby, it's gonna be so weird," Bellamy protests. "And I mean, I'm me, not…not…you know." Bellamy shakes his head and lets out a frustrated sigh. "How could I possibly live up to that?"

Abby narrows her eyes for a moment in confusion, then it clicks.

I'm me…not like Clarke's father.

Abby turns onto her side, facing Bellamy and propping herself up on one arm. "Bellamy," Abby tries to get her attention but she's defiantly staring at the ceiling. "Bellamy, look at me."

Bellamy's head flops towards her but she's still avoiding Abby's eyes.

"Jake's been gone a long time and Clarke's an adult, she's almost out of college. No one is going to be looking to compare you to her father. She doesn't need another parent." Abby reaches out to caress Bellamy's cheek with her thumb, and Bellamy's eyes finally meet her own. "She just needs to see that you're important to me."

Bellamy takes a shuddering breath, and the smile that Bellamy slowly allows to blossom is one of the most beautiful things that Abby has ever seen.

Bellamy pulls Abby in for a deep kiss, the gentle intensity of it making Abby's chest ache and tears threaten at the edge of her eyes.

As she pulls away from the kiss, Bellamy rests her forehead against Abby's.

"Ok," she nods. "Ok."

When it finally happens, dinner with Clarke is fucking awkward as hell.

Abby had considered holding this first real attempt at social interaction between Clarke and Bellamy at a restaurant, a neutral location for them all. But she'd thought Clarke might be a little more receptive if they met on familiar territory, especially if Abby offered up her favorite meal.

They're seated around Abby's dining room table, picking at the pot roast and vegetables on their plates, the conversation sparse, stilted, and monotonous. It's so quiet that they can hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the far hallway, painfully marking the slow progress of the evening.

"Food's good, Mom," Clarke says with a tight-lipped smile.

"Thanks, sweetie. Bellamy made the garlic potatoes," Abby attempts to advocate for her boyfriend.

"Oh. Cool," Clarke replies, completely unimpressed.

Abby grips her fork harder, and her jaw tightens. "How are classes?"

"Oh, good. Yeah. I mean, I've been busy, but they're…good."

If the conversation continues like this, it's going to be a long, excruciating night.

"We stayed at a cabin recently," Abby says, trying to find some sort of common ground. "There was a gorgeous waterfall we hiked to. It seemed like something you'd enjoy drawing."

"A cabin, huh?" Clarke asks. Her eyebrow twitches slightly, and her tone suggests that she's trying not to imagine what else the two of them would have done on a weekend trip together.

"Yes. It was lovely." She sends a reassuring smile over at Bellamy, grateful that he's putting up with this uncomfortable situation.

"And no one got axe-murdered, so that was a plus," Bellamy chimes in.

The statement actually earns a small chuckle from Clarke. "You didn't have to, like, choose your own demise in a ritual sacrifice to an ancient god?"

"Nope. Not a harbinger of evil to be found," Bellamy banters back, and she and Clarke are now smiling timidly at each other.

Abby gapes at them. "What in the hell are you two talking about?"

"The Cabin in the Woods," Clarke states, like it should be obvious to Abby.

Abby shrugs her shoulders and raises her eyebrows, still not comprehending.

Clarke's eyes go wide. "Wait, Mom…you've never seen The Cabin in the Woods?" she asks, her voice high and incredulous. She turns her gaze on Bellamy. "He's never seen it?"

Bellamy raised his hands in the air. "Hey, I've tried to expand her taste in movies, but she refuses."

Great. Abby had hoped they'd bond – not gang up on her. She shakes her head, glancing across the table at Bellamy, who by the look on her face seems to know where this is going.

"Ohmygod, Mom, ok that's it – we're watching it after dinner."

And so after they've finished dinner Abby and Bellamy sit on the couch and Clarke takes the chaise, and they eat popcorn and Abby finally understands the jokes about backwoods cannibal zombie families.

Bellamy spends much of the movie rolling his eyes and griping about characters' weapon choices. "Oh come on – a trowel's not going to be that sharp!"

Abby maybe gets startled and clutches at Bellamy's thigh once or twice – "Like, twenty times," Bellamy will later recount – and they maybe have to pause the movie right in the middle of it because Clarke gets a phone call from someone named Lexa. Clarke retreats up to the guest room to finish the call and takes an inordinate amount of time to come back down but is practically skipping when she does.

While Clarke was gone, Abby and Bellamy managed to snuggle closer together on the couch – "You're practically jumping in my lap anyway," Bellamy had pointed out – and Abby smirks knowingly at Clarke as she returns to the chaise.

"So who's Lex-a?" he asks, his voice lifting in a sing-song tone.

Clarke's cheeks and the tips of her ears go crimson, but she can't prevent a bashful smile from sneaking out. "Let's get back to the movie, shall we?" she deflects, and presses "play" on the remote.

Abby feels Bellamy chuckle against her, and this time Abby doesn't bother removing her hand from Bellamy's thigh.

Since the first anniversary of Jake's death, Abby's had a yearly standing dinner date with Indra and Callie. The first few years' worth of dinners were understandably morose, requiring more consoling and comfort than anything else. But over time, as her life adjusted and she had less need of that immediate solace, the memorial dinners became more about being a routine outlet for friendship and connection in the midst of their hectic lives.

In those first few years, it would've been unfathomable for either Callie or Indra to miss a dinner, but now it's not the end of the world if one or the other occasionally can't make it. This year it's Callie's turn. Her state senate race keeps her on the campaign trail over the anniversary. Since it's just the two of them, Indra's treating Abby to a meal at one of the fanciest restaurants in town. Abby finds herself unsettled for the first time in years though, her appetite lacking, and she pushes her cioppino around in its bowl with her spoon.

"You ok? You're being awfully quiet," Indra asks, setting down her fork, a flash of concern settling into her deep, obsidian eyes.

The fact that Abby's silence is seen as unusual again is a testament to how much these dinners have changed over the years. Despite the fact that each year they always raise a glass of wine in honor of her deceased husband, she can't even remember the last time she felt compelled to talk about Jake at one of these memorial dinners.

And now, the real reason she once again wants to bring up Jake is because of Bellamy. She's not feeling guilty about being so heavily involved with someone, but it does feel like a final step in the process of moving on, and it is every bit as intense a feeling as she imagined. Apparently one advantage of never getting serious with anyone else over the years was the ability to avoid this particular milestone.

She took the gold wedding ring off her finger years ago and it now rests in the jewelry box on her dresser, next to Jake's matching one. Even if she no longer chooses to wear it, she can't imagine ever getting rid of something that personal, and also suspects – and, if she's honest with herself, hopes - that Clarke might want them someday.

"I've just been thinking a lot lately, about Jake, and about Bellamy. About…" she breathes forcefully through her nose and shakes her head, trying to find the words to articulate how she's feeling, "…life. The way that things work out."

Abby glances down and starts pushing around her food again, one side of her mouth quirking up. "It's funny because I actually think they would've gotten along."

And they would have – dauntless, quick-witted Bellamy and reliable, good-natured Jake – and the thought of the engineer she adored and lost and the mechanic she's come to love enjoying each other's company is funny and bizarre and delightful and heartbreaking all at the same time.

Indra laughs, nodding. "Well their taste in women is clearly impeccable."

Abby laughs as well, but is touched by the remark. She's not quite as close with Indra as she is with Callie, but the woman's a loyal friend. She's caring and honest, a woman who does not mince words, and she holds everyone around her to very high standards. A compliment from her is not to be taken lightly.

Indra reaches across the table and places her hand over Abby's, squeezing gently. "I can only imagine what's going on in that head of yours right now. But you know, better than any of us, that none of us are gonna be here forever. And anything can happen at any time."

And Abby does know all of that, painfully well. Sometimes all it takes is an undetected blood clot the size of a common garden pea to very quickly shatter the notion that you'll have forever with someone.

"I know we give you a hard time about your very, very young boyfriend," Indra continues, leering mockingly, "but we haven't seen you this happy in a long time. And no one, in this world or any other, is going to begrudge you for being happy. You deserve it, Abby."

Tears bead at the corner of Abby's eyes and she blinks rapidly to try to keep them from cascading down her cheeks in the middle of the packed restaurant. She moves her free hand on top of Indra's where it is still clasping her own and squeezes back, hard, in thanks for the sentiment.

Indra sighs overdramatically. "Even if it's with someone who doesn't know who the hell Chaka Khan is."

Abby pulls her hand back from Indra's and cups it over her mouth, muffling the snort of laughter that escapes at Indra's comment.

The tension and tortured introspection of the evening starts to drain away. It's been nine years since she got paged out of surgery to receive the worst news of her life, and she could never have possibly fathomed that one day she would be sitting in a posh seafood restaurant joking about the musical tastes of a partner born two decades after her. She sighs and smiles joyously, allowing much of the long-seated heaviness in her heart to release. For the first time in years, she's been thinking more about the future than of the past.

It's years later and Abby and Bellamy have moved into a house together – someplace new, someplace without any echoes of the past, someplace theirs. Even though Abby takes fewer and fewer shifts at work these days, it's halfway between the clinic and the newly expanded location for the garage, where Bellamy's been able to add a custom paint shop with the addition of Anya and Gustus to her crew.

She and Bellamy even broach the subject of kids, though they both seem pretty content just babysitting Clarke and Lexa's little one from time to time. Callie and Indra's cougar jokes reach a whole new level when they find out Abby's going to be a grandmother.

Abby can tell when Callie and Indra really accept Bellamy as a continued presence in her life, because they start to have no qualms about teasing about the age difference in front of Bellamy too. Bellamy usually just rolls her eyes and adopts her best smart-aleck tone to fire back questions about pay phones and Walk-mans and dial-up internet.

They can all laugh about the comments now, having just become ingrained in-jokes amongst a group of friends that have been growing ever closer. They all get together for dinner at the house at least once a month – Abby and Bellamy, Callie and Indra, Clarke, Lexa, and their daughter, sometimes even Octavia and Lincoln or various mechanics from the shop.

It's a cool, fall evening, scarlet-orange leaves just starting to litter the ground below the enormous red maple that takes up most of the front yard, and Abby and Bellamy have invited the core group over for dinner.

Clarke and Lexa arrive first, Clarke carrying the baby while Lexa juggles their overnight gear and diaper bag. They both look exhausted, dark circles ringing their eyes and their cheeks hollow and pallid. Abby almost teases them about it, but remembers the struggles of being a new parent all too well. She's glad they're staying the night instead of driving home after dinner.

"The baby can sleep in our room tonight, if you'd like," she offers.

Clarke looks like she's going to protest but Lexa intercedes, nodding enthusiastically. "Yes. We'd like."

Abby purses her lips, suppressing a smile – who knew the normally unflappable Lexa would finally be vanquished by an infant?

"Here, why don't you give me the baby while you two put your things upstairs?"

"Thanks, Mom." Clarke hands over their daughter and heads towards the stairs, but pauses when she reaches the doorway to the dining room.

"Geez, Mom," she remarks, peering inside, "you went all out. What's the occasion?"

The table is already packed with food, and there's still more in the kitchen waiting to be brought out. Each setting is adorned with the good cloth napkins and the gorgeous china that Callie gave them as a housewarming gift, and there are two long, tapered candles centered in the table.

Abby had wanted to tell Clarke the big news personally, but between Bellamy's expansion of the garage, Lexa's recent promotion, and the new baby, there just hasn't been a good time.

"Well, honey," Abby starts, clearing her throat and adjusting the baby in her arms. She glances over at Bellamy, who nods once in encouragement. "Bellamy and I were going to tell everyone tonight that we – "

She's interrupted by an arguing Lincoln and Callie barging through the door, Lincoln holding the two pies that Callie had insisted on making.

"Oh come on, you could totally do it!" Lincoln turns away from Callie, looking over at Abby pleadingly. "Dr. Griffin, tell her that running a half-marathon isn't going to kill her."

"Uh, it might when you're over forty and the only running you've done in the past three years was for office," Callie retorts, as they all crowd into the entryway.

Abby chuckles and hands the baby over to Bellamy, then takes the pies from Lincoln. "Please, Lincoln, how many times have you been over here? It's just Abby," she reminds the polite young man. He's always been overly deferential towards her – he's a bit older than his partner, too, and Abby thinks it's his way of showing solidarity with her.

"Right, sorry Doc - Abby," he corrects himself, smiling sheepishly.

Clarke seems to have forgotten what Abby was in the middle of saying, and follows Lexa upstairs while Callie and Lincoln – still bickering – head into the dining room.

Indra and Octavia enter right behind them, and Octavia shuts the front door against a gust of wind.

"Oh, Abby, I'm so glad you've got the heat on. It's getting cold out!" Indra greets, her upper body shivering slightly. She closes in on Abby and wraps her in a hug, squeezing heartily, and Abby has to raise the pies out of the way of her arms. Indra steps past Abby and stops in front of Bellamy, eyeing her and the baby.

"I see you've found someone your age to play with," Indra teases, quirking one eyebrow and smiling widely. She envelops Bellamy and the baby into a robust hug as well, kissing the baby on the top of the head.

"Oh, very funny," Bellamy says, bouncing the baby a little higher on her hip and turning towards the kitchen. "Come on, squirt, let's go finish making dinner and leave the old ladies to reminisce about the Great War."

"Hey!" Abby and Indra cry out in unison, and Octavia snickers from behind them.

Indra whips around to glare at her. "This old lady's gonna wipe the floor with you if we play Trivial Pursuit again after dinner."

"Bring it, Grandma," Octavia challenges, clapping Indra on the back and ushering her towards the dining room.

Abby's left alone in the entryway, dazed at the flurry of activity that just descended upon her house. She blinks rapidly, shaking her head to clear it, then heads to the kitchen to set down the pies and help Bellamy with the rest of the food.

As dinner winds down, Abby scans the group of people seated at her table, engrossed in conversation in various combinations.

"Bellamy, sweetie, I cannot thank you enough for those free car repair workshops you've been doing at the shelter," Indra praises, as Bellamy passes her the platter of sliced, roasted lamb. "They're the most successful classes we've ever held."

Bellamy shrugs his shoulders. "I'm just happy to help, especially if it can get people better jobs."

" – we'd just need to get you on a regular training regimen and – " Lincoln continues trying to persuade Callie.

"Look, if I can get this latest bill passed during this session I'll do the 5K with you, but no way in hell am I running a half-marathon," Callie concedes, waving her fork at him.

Octavia's at the far end of the table making faces at the cooing baby, while Lexa and Clarke alternate attempts to keep tiny fingers from painting the high-chair with mashed sweet potatoes.

Abby takes a deep breath, her chest swelling with love and pride and comfort, and her lips slide into a radiant smile. It feels good to be in a house so full of life again. She looks over at Bellamy, seated next to her, and Bellamy holds his gaze, smiling back knowingly. Abby places her left hand on top of Bellamy's right and squeezes. It's time. She turns back towards her guests.

"Guys, Bellamy and I…well, tonight we wanted to – "

Callie looks down at the hand that's covering Bellamy's, spotting the ring before Abby has a chance to finish her sentence.

"Oh my god," she gasps, her jaw hanging open. She reaches across Bellamy and snatches Abby's hand, turning it back and forth to examine the gold engagement band with its single, modest diamond. "Oh my god!"

The rest of the guests start to catch on. Clarke brings a fist to her mouth as she chokes slightly on the bite of food she's just taken. Lexa pats her on the back while she sends a small, approving smile and nod Abby's way. Lincoln and Octavia glance at each other, Lincoln smiling shyly as he takes her hand in his. Octavia returns the smile and blushes.

Indra just slaps her knee, tosses her head back, and cackles.

Everyone starts lobbing out congratulations, and questions about the date and the location and who the wedding attendants will be, but Abby lets Bellamy field them, and returns her hand to Bellamy's now upturned palm. She'd never imagined she'd be wearing another ring on that finger, but as she gazes at it, savoring its perfect weight and the way the warmth of Bellamy's hand flows around the cooler metal, it feels so right – so balanced.

Bellamy must sense her ruminations, and she turns her attention away from their guests, training quizzically narrowed eyes on Abby. There's a shimmer of tears in Abby's eyes, but it's from the profound depth of love and belonging she's feeling right now, not from any sorrow or distress. She smiles sweetly, reassuringly, and Bellamy's concerned gaze turns understanding. Bellamy swings his other arm over and his hands – those strong, capable hands that mend broken things and stroke Abby's cheek and hold her grandchild – cradle Abby's in between them.

Abby casts one more glance around those seated at her table. She's surrounded by happy, healthy loved ones, and oh – this future is looking pretty good.

F I N

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave Kudos.


End file.
